Peaches
by DJRabidPunk
Summary: Leonard McCoy is addicted to peaches, a fact that angers, amuses, confuses, and is used by the crew of the USS Enterprise. Rating for language.
1. Crates

**Peaches**

_Crates_

"Peaches, Bones? You wasted all your credits on _peaches_?" The good doctor huffs as he hauls a small crate of peaches into the medical freezer, carefully wrapping them in clingy plastic sheets as Jim stands in the doorway, confused.

"Don't be ridiculous, Jim. If I spent my whole, enormous Starfleet paycheck on peaches, they'd go bad before I could eat them all." He's bringing in another crate when Jim gathers his brains up off the floor.

"But why _peaches_, Bones? I mean…it's just fruit." Bones huffs in that way that tells Jim he's annoyed, but is going to explain it anyways because they're friends. Otherwise, he'd have a glare and a hypo being waved at him.

"Jim, I'm from _Georgia_. Have you not heard the expression 'sweet as Georgia peaches'? And I grew up on a plantation, Jim, which was full of peach trees. This 'just fruit'? It's…like a piece of home." His voice goes soft as he picks one up, and after a moment of tender silence he bites into it, closing his eyes as he hums in contentment. Jim raises an eyebrow, as he knows what that sound, in a different context; it's intense, happy pleasure, and hearing it come from the doctor while eating peaches is oddly…sexual. Jim picks up a peach, sniffing it curiously.

"You know, I don't think I've ever had a peach?" Jim didn't think it was possible for Bones to do a spit-take. Apparently he was wrong. Bones goes from horrified to righteous anger as he forces Jim to take a bite of the fuzzy little fruit.

The outside freaks him out a little, because he equates fuzz on his food with that food being moldy, but Bones convinces him that they're ridiculously fresh. But inside it's fleshy and juicy, and it _is_ really sweet. He munches on it under Bones careful inspection, and when he swallows, shrugs and says,

"It's alright. I still like apples better." And Bones just huffs and snatches the peach from Jim's fingers, biting deep. Juice drips down his chin, and Jim resists the urge to lean forward and lick it off.

"You're a deprived child, Jim Kirk," he mutters around his fruit, and Jim just grins.

"Sure, Bones, whatever you say."

**AN:** Made this series of shorts on a whim, as I love Bones and his cantankerous-ness. And I was hungry. Hope you like 'em! And yes, Bones will use his medical freezer to store his stash 'o' peaches. Because he's the CMO and can do whatever the fuck he wants. :D


	2. Sexist

**Peaches**

_Sexist_

They're in the officer's mess when Bones makes the worst mistake of his life. And that includes his divorce with his wife.

Jim and Spock are having a healthy (note: Jim is about as close to insanely frustrated as he gets, and Spock is covertly smug) debate about marooning in emergency situations, and Bones is silently worshipping the peach he's eating. Then he glances at Uhura, who is shaking her head in amusement, and his chewing slows until she looks over. He smiles and leans forward.

"Uhura, you can cook, right?" An elegant eyebrow arches, and she sets down her fork with delicate precision.

"No, why?" McCoy flushes slightly and sits back again.

"Oh, never mind."

"No, what is it, doctor?" Her voice has that hard-edged yet innocent tone that practically forces a man to reply. McCoy takes his good time, fidgeting.

"I was just wondering, Lieutenant," he mumbles defensively. Uhura isn't buying it, because she draws her self up and says,

"Is it because I'm a woman, _doctor_?" McCoy practically flinches. All eyes have been drawn towards them. Jim is trying to hide his grin, and Spock looks mildly alarmed. Bones will absolutely not look Uhura in the eyes.

"No, I was just asking a curious-" Uhura picks up her fork just to slam it back down again. She stands up, her slim figure striking in all it's feminine fury.

"You know, doctor, I would say you're a chauvinist, assuming pig, but I really can't blame you, because the entire male part of our species, _especially the ones from the South_, seems to be of the opinion that since I'm a _woman_, never mind a _Starfleet officer_, I can do things like _cook_. And frankly, I'm sick of it. I can't cook, doctor, and if it weren't for replicators, I would probably starve to death, just like the rest of you stupid men!" There is utter silence in the officer's mess. And then, slowly, all the other female officers stand and start to clap. Soon Uhura is flushed, and sinks sheepishly back into her seat next to Spock, who looks strained. Jim laughs and fist bumps her, and McCoy has turned a sickly shade of yellow-green. As he excuses himself, he's pelted with rolls and spoons, fuming women catcalling after him as he flees. When Sulu, whose just arrived, raises an eyebrow, Uhura shrugs and says innocently,

"What? I've gotten tired of him asking me to make him peach cobbler. He can satisfy his fix another way." And then they devolve into linguistics debate as Spock asks what she means, and Bones has learned his lesson.

Never cross Nyota Uhura. _Never_.

**AN:** This is just a little thing. I don't mean anything by it. I don't know why, but I feel like I should apologize? D:


	3. Still

**Peaches**

_Still_

Scotty's still is legendary, and if there's one man that needs intense alcohol, it's Leonard H. McCoy, CMO on the U.S.S. Enterprise.

Bones wordlessly hands Scotty two dozen peaches and sits down to wait, pissed at himself for waiting for his stash to run out before replenishing. He could seriously already be trashed, and instead he has to wait for the distillation process to complete itself. What a pain.

"Might I ask what the occasion is, Doctor?" Scotty asks amiably. McCoy doesn't flinch, because he knows that Scotty doesn't know. He's distracted by a bit of half-song that he thinks he remembers, then grouses silently for a moment before deciding to fuck with Scotty's brain.

"I caught Jim and Spock fucking in the supply closet," he says bluntly. Scotty splutters Scottish curses and drops something glass, breaks it. McCoy watches the glittering pieces with impassive hatred, the slow burn of betrayal making Scotty's floundering vindictively right. He grins savagely at the ceiling, carefully wondering how the hell he missed something like that. How he missed the subtle flirtations and hand brushes, how he missed Jim's too-long glances at Spock. They're broken up, sure, but that doesn't mean that catching Jim with someone else hurts less.

"I dannae know what I can do to help, doctor, but I'm sorry anyways." And there, right there, is why McCoy wouldn't have gone to Chapel or someone else. Because Scotty just calmly offers his sympathy and his help if Bones needs it, and goes about fixing his still. Nothing else, no pressing for things that he wants, desperately _needs_, to keep inside. The things that he wants to keep and let fester, relishing in the little hurts when his day goes to shit and he wants to drown in alcohol. Like now, would be nice.

He sighs, forcing air out of his lungs hard until he feels it in his bones, and then laughs shakily as he rakes his hands through his hair, curses spilling out as the hurt wells up in waves.

He loved Jim. Still does, probably won't ever stop. Almost everyone he meets falls in love with the damn bastard. There's no helping it, and he was stupid for thinking the Vulcan was fucking immune. Stupid for thinking he could fall out of love with Jim. There is no falling out of love with James T. Kirk, just like there is no escaping the terrifying vacuum of space that they're trapped in.

Tears well up, and then he asks Scotty roughly if the damn booze is done. Scotty doesn't say anything, just sits next to him and shoves a mason jar into his hand. He takes a deep draw from it without looking, and it tastes overbearingly of peaches and spices and the sharpness of alcohol on his tongue.

He drowns himself in peach rum and spills his guts to Scotty, who listens solemnly and says nothing.

And that's why he likes Scotty, and always tries to make his trips to Sickbay as painless as possible.

**AN: **I can't write Scotty's accent to save my life. Woot.


	4. Bribe

**Peaches**

_Bribe_

"I think, Doctor, that you are continuously trying to goad me into arguing with you because you are jealous of my relationship with the Captain." There's tense, bitter silence as Jim glances between the two men, anxious and helpless. He can't take a side, not between his friends, his officers, his lovers. McCoy is slack-jawed and flushing spottily with anger.

"_What_?" An eyebrow hiked.

"I believe you heard what I said, Doctor McCoy." The only sound is McCoy's huffy breaths as he tries to work his tongue again, intelligence failing him in the wake of the pure rage he's drowning in. What he wouldn't give to hit Spock, right across the face and watch his head snap back, lip bruised and split, green blood trailing down his chin. What he wouldn't _give_.

"Mr. _Spock_, I think the next time you come into Sickbay with your guts in a bucket, I'm going to just sit back and laugh at you, you pathetic waste." The venom in his voice is what he wants, and yet it still bites bitterly at the part of him that craves peace and quiet. If this fight weren't so important, he would give up just so he could get some sleep. He never gets enough sleep.

Spock simply tips his head slightly, eyebrows both jumping towards his hairline. And McCoy snaps in the face of that calm, and draws back his fist and hurls it at Spock's head.

Spock sidesteps, cool and unfazed. And McCoy is like an animal now, howling unintelligibly as he swings back again. Spock catches his wrist, and he hears Jim let out a cry. Then there's a point of pain in his shoulder, and he curses one last time as he realizes he's been nerve pinched. Damn Vulcan.

Black.

When McCoy wakes up, there's a basket of peaches next to his biobed. He's been out of peaches for weeks, and can't fathom where the hell they came from, but he's not complaining. Until he's halfway through his third peach, and notices the tag half-imbedded between two pieces of fruit. It reads "Apologies, Doctor, for antagonizing you." Then there's some swirly things that he can't decipher, and under that, it's signed "Spock." And the peach pit he'd been idly chewing goes flying across Sickbay to bounce of Chapel's hand, a tray of delicate tools, and into the glass of water that a patient is drinking. Cue spit-take, and McCoy is weeping and laughing in turns, because it's just too damn funny.

The next day he storms up to the bridge and glares at both Spock and Jim in turns until Jim looks uncomfortable and Spock looks bored. Or indifferent. It's hard to tell. Finally he summons up his immeasurable courage (immeasurable because it's so fickle, not because it's big), drags them into a supply closet by the ear and sighs.

"Jim, does Spock make you happy?" Jim flushes, and they both wait as he stutters over himself and tries to grow some balls. Finally he mutters a hushed yes and looks away from them both. McCoy stews for a moment then glares at Spock.

"I will fucking gut you in your sleep if you hurt him. I swear it, on God and any other divine entity there is and my goddamn _medical oath_, that I will torture you as long as possible until you're just happy when I finish with you. Do we have an understanding, Mr. Spock?" Spock seems to give him a long once-over, then pales slightly and nods. McCoy grins.

"Good. Now, I have to get back to fucking work. You two play nice." And he stomps out and goes back to Sickbay, feeling relieved. Spock and Jim stay in the closet for a moment, just breathing.

"Did bribing him work, then?" Spock shrugs.

"I suppose, Captain. Your guess is as good as mine when it comes to the ways of Doctor McCoy." And Jim laughs.

**AN:**I use spit-takes too much, but they're just funny. Lots of swearing in this chapter. And McCoy raining doom down on Spock. XD


	5. Gift

**Peaches**

_Gift_

Christmas aboard the U.S.S. Enterprise isn't a big affair. They're not always close enough to Earth to receive gifts from their loved ones, but this year is a lucky one. If you count an attack by Romulans as luck. But that's what Spacedock is for, anyways, and it's nice to be close enough to get presents. Unfortunately, there's a case of Andorian flu going around, and most people planet side aren't vaccinated for it, so no one is allowed to take the shuttle down. This has most people pitching a fit, but McCoy is just happy that he can send Joanna the bracelet he picked up for her on Theta IV.

McCoy really wasn't expecting anything, as most of his relatives are either dead or too senile to remember he exists. So when Scotty comes over to him in Sickbay with a small package and a wicked grin, he ran a tricorder over it. Just to be sure it wasn't a bomb, or a deadly virus, or one of Jim's asinine pranks. After tentatively ripping off the paper (no tag, hurrah), and slitting open the packing tape, he opened it up to find six different kinds of packing peanuts and a jar of homemade peach preservative.

There was a fat, red ribbon wrapped tight around the lid, with a little note scribbled in shaky cursive. He read it silently to himself.

"Dear Daddy, Me and mommy made you this jam! It came from grandma's special tree, the one you always told me is magic. I know how much you like it, and I hope you're safe! Merry Christmas, Daddy, and I love you! Love, Joanna."

There is a moment of silence as the medical technicians, nurses, and M'Benga gather around to read the note over his shoulder. And then McCoy explodes into a barking, bitching fit, shouting for them to do some fucking work, for god's sake, how often are they at space dock? After they all scatter, Bones storms into his office and slams the door, collapsing into his office chair.

And then he breaks down and sobs all over his paperwork.

Jim finds him like that after an hour, taking miserable sips of tequila out of the bottle and muttering to himself to stop blubbering like a girl. He instantly throws a PADD at Jim's head, who just smiles, bemused, and shuts the door. When asked for an explanation, Bones thrusts the jar into his hands, watching him like a bloodthirsty hawk as he juggles it from hand to hand. He coos, as Bones knew he would, and passes it back with a slightly mocking, slightly sad smile.

"You're crying because your kid cares about you?" Bones glares, switches to scowling fearsomely, and then gives up and takes a long swig of tequila.

"Yes. Because she took the time to convince her mother to visit my batshit-crazy mom, and pick the peaches, and make the jam, and write that note. She's only eight years old, Jim, she shouldn't even know her cursive letters yet, and it's nearly damn perfect. She's grown up so much while I'm out here foolin' in space, like I'm some young buck. I should be down there with my little girl." Bones gestures vaguely towards the floor, hiccups, and takes another swig. Jim just sighs, though it's a happy noise. He does a lot of that kind of paternal crap nowadays, since he's with Spock. Bones secretly hates it, though he wont' say so. In three swift gulps he empties the bottle, and it thunks heavily as he dumps the bottle into the trash can. He's reaching for the bottom drawer of his desk, which is his secret liquor cabinet, but there's a warm hand on his wrist and another in his hair, and he doesn't think twice when he leans back into the soft touch. Maybe he's really drunk, and tired. And a little desperate. Soon his eyes are shut, and Jim's warm voice drifts into his ear as he nods off.

"Merry Christmas, you peach-eating bastard."

**AN: **I wrote a tear-jerker, LAWL. End of these little drabbles, everyone!


End file.
